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I huff and slink onto the bench next to her.
“It was your first try.”
“Third.” I cross my legs, my white-and-coral cotton dress spilling over my knee. “I didn’t make it past the mixing state with the first batch. And I burnt the second.”
“Oh.” She bites her cheek. “Well, you’ll get it.”
“Thanks, Nikki. That’s nice of you.” I clear my throat and pluck up my courage. I am not afraid to be kind. And—I hope she knows I’m trying to be kind here. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I can see you’re sad. Can I help?”
She shakes her head and twirls her phone over and over. “Just junior high. At least that’s what my mom says.”
“What does that mean?”
“Youknow,” she says, then gives a slumped shoulder shrug, “junior high sucks.”
I purse my lips. “Idon’tknow. I was homeschooled.”
“Man, I wish I could be homeschooled. But my mom works until seven every night. And she doesn’t want me to be alone that long.” Nikki rolls her eyes—as if this is a dumb reason.
“So, explain. Why does junior high suck?”
“Because guys are jerks and girls are mean.” She peers down, not meeting my eye.
“Is that why you’re skipping?”
She doesn’t even try to hide it. “Yep.”
I nod. “Wanna make cookies?”
The right side of her mouth lifts in a grin, but it doesn’t last. It falls just as quickly as it lifted. “My mom would murder me if I went home with a stranger. Not that you’re a stranger—”
My eyes widen. “Oh. Right. Bad idea, Meredith,” I say to myself.
“That’s okay. I should go back for science anyway. I have a project due.”
I nod. “All right, well I’m going to go give these salty cookies to a fairly salty man.” I laugh—because dang, I’m funny. Maybe I’ll start shooting for the standup comic award.
“Is he cute?”
I press my lips together. “Very. He is very cute, Nikki. He makes me ponder number five on a regular basis.”
She snorts. “I have no clue what that means. But I’ll take your word for it.”
I’ve decided in the ten minutes it’s taken me to walk to the shop that it’s better to show up with salty cookies than no cookies at all. Maybe, like Uncle Bob, Levi likes salt.
I walk into the Bike-A-Lot, a grin on my face. But the man behind the cash counter isn’t Levi. Nope, he’s got brown curly hair and a smile on his face—that’s definitely not Levi.
He’s peering down, a pencil in his hand, grinning at whatever it is he’s looking at.
“Hello?” I say. I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear the bell above the door.
He jumps—confirming my suspicion. How would it be to be so lost in your own thoughts that the rest of the world vanishes?
“I scared you. I’m sorry.” But I realize, too late, that he probably doesn’t want me pointing that out. Being fairly homebound most of my life has made me socially awkward. I know it. I also don’t know how to stop it.
